


The Sleep of the Just

by radondoran



Category: Gyakuten Kenji | Ace Attorney Investigations: Miles Edgeworth
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Phoenix Wright Kink Meme, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-05
Updated: 2010-04-05
Packaged: 2017-11-05 04:56:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/402662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/radondoran/pseuds/radondoran
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was disgraceful that Gumshoe should be completely at ease while he, Miles Edgeworth, was prey to such an absurd sense of awkwardness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sleep of the Just

**Author's Note:**

> For [a prompt at the Phoenix Wright Kink Meme](http://bludhavens.livejournal.com/76186.html?thread=30827162#t30827162) asking for Edgeworth and Gumshoe sharing a bed.

Edgeworth sat on the edge of the bed and reflected that he had no one to blame for the current situation but himself. Well, all right, he supposed he _could_ blame Detective Gumshoe for their missing the last train back to the city. The rest, however, fell squarely on his shoulders, because when the proprietor of the bed-and-breakfast had offered to let them stay the night, it was he who had taken the prerogative and said, "Thank you, we will; it's most kind of you."

Then she had added, "Oh dear, though, between the crime scene and our other guests, I'm afraid we only have one room left--the full bed, on the second floor. Is that all right?"

And Edgeworth had said--curse his blasted politeness!--"It's not a problem. We'll make do."

The clincher, though, had been his flubbing the last chance of getting out of it. The cook had spoken up: "I can move into madam's room, if you like, and one of you can take my bed."

And--drat it all! it echoed ironically in his head now--he had replied, with a gracious bow, "No, we shouldn't want to inconvenience you any further. The detective and I are both mature adults; I'm sure we can handle it for one night."

That was easy enough to say, but several hours later, now that Edgeworth actually saw the small room and the full bed--not even as large as his queen at home--he was having second thoughts. For heaven's sake, what had he been thinking? He didn't even feel comfortable standing too close to another person, let alone sleeping beside one. And the fact that it was Gumshoe made things even worse--it would be less awkward with a stranger, or a close friend, but a subordinate, someone with whom he generally maintained (or tried to maintain) a certain degree of professionalism... The whole thing was a headache.

Gumshoe, in his T-shirt and a pair of borrowed sweats, flopped his broad body easily down onto the bed so that it bounced, and stretched out with a yawn. "Gee, I'm beat," he said conversationally, and Edgeworth inwardly cursed him too. It was disgraceful that this simple man should be completely at ease while he, Miles Edgeworth, was prey to such an absurd sense of awkwardness. I am a mature adult, he thought with a sardonic smile; I'm sure I can handle this for one night. He forced himself to lie down beside Gumshoe, facing the wall, of course, and covered himself with half of the blanket.

"Should I get the lights, sir?" Gumshoe asked, shifting on the mattress.

"Yes, thank you," said Edgeworth without looking at him. What could he do? It wasn't as if he could go and rouse the cook at this point. The mattress bounced again, and the lights went out. Edgeworth stiffened as he felt Gumshoe slide back into the bed next to him, mere inches away under the sheets.

"Good night, sir."

"Good night, Detective."

In what couldn't have been more than ten minutes, Gumshoe's breathing indicated that he was sound asleep. The sleep of the just, thought Edgeworth, a little bitterly. For his part, he'd never felt less relaxed. He lay still and utterly awake, listening to the chirping of the local wildlife, alternating between staring at the inside of his eyelids and staring into the darkness in the direction of the wall. He was acutely conscious of the living body next to him, and dared not even turn over to try and find a more comfortable position, or adjust the blankets over his shoulder.

After what seemed like hours--no digital clocks in a quaint place like this--even his frustration at being unable to sleep was starting to keep him awake. Damn! If he had been at home, he would have got up, read a book for half an hour, gone outside to clear his head... but he couldn't possibly get out of the bed and risk waking Gumshoe, risk Gumshoe's inquiries and his annoying solicitude--besides, he had nowhere to go. He wasn't confident he could safely find the sitting-room in the darkness, and they had certainly locked all the outside doors. He imagined himself stranded outside in the snow, half-dressed, ignominiously tossing rocks at people's windows at four in the morning. No; there was nothing for it but to lie here and try staring at his eyelids again...

Edgeworth did not feel in the least refreshed, or any less awake than before, but he reasoned that he must have been asleep, because he had failed to notice Detective Gumshoe's pulling away all the blankets. Now he was not only wide awake, but also shivering. What time was it? The room was still pitch-black, with no sign of dawn. He groaned aloud, his growing annoyance overcoming his overdeveloped sense of propriety, and turned over violently to recoup the covers.

Then he froze as Gumshoe sighed and turned over to face him with a murmured, "Hey, pal." Still half-asleep, Edgeworth deduced; he wasn't calling him "sir."

Edgeworth wet his lips and prepared to whisper, _It's nothing, Detective, go back to sleep_ , but he shuddered, and Gumshoe noticed it.

"You cold, pal?"

"I'm fine," Edgeworth whispered back.

"C'mere," Gumshoe murmured, unhearing, and he leaned into the middle of the bed, reached out and gathered the shocked Edgeworth into a close hug--and then, apparently, went right back to sleep.

Now this, thought Edgeworth, pinned under the dead weight of Gumshoe's arm, was just ridiculous. It was absurd. It was... actually, pretty warm.

He stopped trying to extricate himself and closed his eyes, let his body relax for just a moment. He had stopped shivering; in fact, he was much more comfortable here than he had been under only the blanket. The strong arm curled around him and the solidity of Gumshoe's torso were oddly comforting as well, providing a sense of being somehow safe and protected. Gumshoe's scent, too, was reassuring: not unpleasant and, Edgeworth realized, not unfamiliar. Edgeworth lay there quietly, comfortably, feeling Gumshoe's deep breaths against his own body, and at long last his own breathing slowed down to match...

"Hey, uh, Mr. Edgeworth?"

Gumshoe's voice, restored to its usual happy-go-lucky timbre. Gumshoe's hand in his hair, too, playfully nudging him awake. Birds singing outside, ambient light in the room. Morning.

"Wake up, sleepyhead."

_Sleepyhead_? Edgeworth opened his eyes and prepared to rebuke the detective for this lack of professionalism--and then he remembered where he was. He had to tilt his head back to see the goofy smile: apparently, he had spent the night neatly tucked under Gumshoe's chin. He then became conscious of the reason Gumshoe hadn't just stood up first: Edgeworth's right arm lay slung across Gumshoe's body, while his left hand, like a child's, clung tightly to the fabric of his shirt.

"Good morning, sir," said Gumshoe, grinning down at him with no apparent regard for the strangeness of the situation.

"Good morning, Detective," Edgeworth replied, hastily releasing him and sitting up on his own side of the bed. On second thought, it would be best just not to bring up professionalism for at least the next hour or two.

Moreover, it would definitely be best never to admit that that had been the best sleep he'd had in weeks.


End file.
